I could barely hear the howling.
There was too many people. Like a single organism squirming around in it’s own filth.
A mass of warmth and bodies writhing and shuddering in an agitated sort of anticipation. Everywhere a tumult of faces and sound, a thundering drum of feet beating cement, a twisted tribal dance coaxing the beast out of its hole.
And out of the depths it emerged, from the putrid darkness of the tunnels that dissected the city above, it came howling.
The metallic pack of wolves screeched as it slithered into the light of the station and came to a stop parallel to the platform writhing with human form.
And then the ritual began.
Push, sweat, pull, yell, curse, enter.
The sweaty column of man ceased to shudder and vibrate with movement and conversation. Now it surged forth to it’s destination, nestled within the fermenting insides of the metal beast, that would hurtle them forward into the depths of hell and the light of the surface.
Two small fists beat upon my back.
A wave runs through the crowd and there is a struggle for the front.
Fists upon my back.
The waves crash harder against the coast of the train.
More fists upon my back.
Tranquilo! Puto penedejo tranquilo!
The storm subsides and the train leaves howling into the abyss.
There are no fists upon my back.
Where is my wallet?
I got robbed.